dusk till dawn
by River Edge
Summary: Toph refuses to admit the incident with Yakone has bothered her. Aang is patient. [Toph/Aang]


**note** : Although the incident with Yakone does feature in this (as well as the repercussions of his actions), Toph and Aang are 1) not parents and 2) significantly younger.

Enjoy!

* * *

'You know I don't give a shit, right?'

Aang supposes as much. Nevertheless, he fights the urge to prove her wrong. Instead all the words and questions and concern ripples away in his mouth, ash on his tongue, and he allows it to die.

Fortunately, Yakone's sick prank did not go successfully. Even though he managed to disable Aang, Toph and Sokka, his antics were stopped by the other military police present. Now he rots behind bars, and Aang has every determination to keep him there.

What bothers him now is that his closest friend hasn't reacted the way he thinks she should. Through the illegal use of Bloodbending, Yakone managed to stop any forms of Bending from both Toph and Aang. She won't admit to it, but the effects this must have had on Toph especially would have been catastrophic.

Since she was a little a girl, this would have been the first time she was genuinely blind.

It _shattered_ him, having to see her look so _scared_. Witnessing her fear only made Aang all the more desperate to cut himself loose, but the panic and struggle only worsened the situation.

So afterwards he followed her to her office, and asked how she was, does she need to talk about what happened, because he _is_ there for her, and, if necessary, he will even stay and make sure that––

But she tells him she doesn't give a shit, and he should have expected as much.

Toph is humiliated and he can see it in her broken eyes.

* * *

Initially, it's terrible.

Aang worries that he is starting to act selfishly. But he can't help himself. He doesn't ask her, but he shows his asking: _are you okay?_ She sighs, ignores him, ignores _that_ , just continues her role as Chief like any decent commanding officer would.

Something changes, though. The small details he has to closely pay attention to. Notice. And these details are what only Aang would notice. She has started to devote herself to braille, her surprisingly delicate fingertips tracing the dotted patterns.

Toph has started reading, and not just reports, but storybooks.

It's a good distraction, but, more importantly, it makes her feel just a little bit more _useful_. Because Yakone reminded her she has her limits, and those limits are easily within reach. Despite the façade, and as brilliant as Aang thinks her to be, without her Bending, she's helpless.

Sometimes she gets so engrossed in her reading, he finds her asleep with her face buried in books, the braille leaving marks against her cheek. He doesn't wake her up, nor does he tidy the pile of books gradually rising in the corner of her office. Even after what happened, he's still very much considerate of her need for independence.

* * *

Touch becomes–– _vital_.

For as long as he's known her, he's been very aware of the fact that Toph is particular on who or what she touches. That's just a reflection of what kind of a woman she is. _Particular_. He's always appreciated the fact she's depended solely on her Earthbending to size somebody up.

Except nowadays. Toph starts to lean on her other senses, as well. Much more than usual.

She feels the walls while she walks, and he observes how, every time she enters a room, she touches the doorframe, door handle; she accesses her points of escape. Albeit briefly, she may pat a colleague's arm, their shoulder, and, on the rare occasion, grasp a hand or a wrist.

Perhaps it's because he's around her the most, but she grows accustomed to touching him too; and Aang takes great pleasure in occasionally guiding or escorting her. Be it looping her arm through his, or ever so subtly brushing her hand over his own.

The reassurance that is he close.

And Aang treasures every second. His face is beautiful to study. Aang can't help but smile wide when she carefully paints his face in her mind, her fingers passing his eyes, nose, cheeks, and then his lips which raise for her. Sometimes, he can't help but reach over, and study her face too; he's learnt so much from her, and he begins to understand just how crucial touch is for the sake of survival.

* * *

'You're growing a beard.'

Aang laughs, a little awkward, but mostly amused. 'Yeah, I am. It's the tradition of Airbending Masters. You don't like it?'

Tilting her head, he watches her decide.

'I never said that.'

* * *

On occasion, she might go home with him. Aang has never seen where she lives. Which is odd. They're such close friends, and yet so unfamiliar. But he holds her hand, and he expects her to yank away from him, or tease him, or something along those lines.

Instead she clings on, and he clings on too, and he nearly wants to say _I'm not letting you go this time around_ however they're already out of the door, outside into the freezing chill, and walking home. Toph displays such a confidence when she strolls without sight to rely on, and his admiration for her only grows stronger.

He stumbles slightly because of the ice, and the shock shoots to her hand, and she squeezes tight, and he laughs nervously, nearly flushed. 'Sorry.' They're both startled. Petrified. They stop, and he looks at her, and, 'I'm sorry,' because she's relying on him to keep her balanced, to keep her rooted to the earth, and he just _slipped_ ––

For the briefest second, he can see the damage, and it all comes howling back to her, a nightmare refusing to _budge_ , but by the time he's able to find words, she snorts at him, because _how ridiculous_ , 'Whatever, Twinkletoes. Just hang onto me, and I'll get you out of here alive.'

'Heh,' Aang's smile falters, 'I know you will.'

* * *

When they arrive home, he helps her out of her coat and scarf, and she pauses, hesitates, and then decides to let it happen.

She won't say it. But the extra help –– she appreciates it from time to time.

* * *

Neither drink. With Aang, that's obvious, but Toph has simply never acquired to the taste of booze. But it's a cold night, and there's an old, tired bottle of whiskey in the cupboard which Sokka gave Aang years ago, and Aang thinks, what's the harm?

They're up to their third when Toph says: 'I'm fine with it. With _this_. The whole _blind_ thing. I've never actually had a problem with it; just other people have, and that's tough sometimes.'

Her cheeks are rosy, and she's worn out, and Aang adores her.

'You're the most incredible woman I've ever met,' and he is gentle, cautious with his words, and his eyes are smiling.

Toph blinks at that.

It hits him how rarely she is praised. Praised just for the sake of being praised. To be praised, and the word _blind_ not to be associated with it all. Aang think she is incredible because she _is_ incredible.

He abandons his whiskey, comes over to sit close, and he rests his hand on her arm. 'I know you said you don't care, but––'

'I can't sleep.'

He breathes in harshly. Anger, hatred and vengeance stir tight in his belly, and he imagines grabbing Yakone by his dreaded face, and ripping him to pieces. But his sanity, his very purpose, dampens the rage. He breathes out, softens his expression, and brushes her cheek with the back of his hand, inches just a little closer.

'Because you're scared,' he whispers for her.

'Nobody has ever done… _that_ to me before.'

'I know.'

'I sound like a pussy, but I––'

'Shh,' Aang strokes a hand through her hair, and her body responds. More colour reaches her cheeks, and he watches her inhale deeply, the tension in her shoulders beginning to weaken. 'It's okay––what you're feeling, but I don't want you to feel it alone.'

'That's why you stuck around.' She raises the glass to her lips, pauses, lowers the glass without taking a sip. Toph can feel him pressed against her side, and he's so warm. But she begins to wonder if it's the effects of the alcohol or the fact he's still touching her, or that she can feel the immense weight of his eyes on her face.

'Yeah,' he says. He draws her to his body, arms protective and strong and trembling. 'Come here.'

* * *

So, she kisses him first, and he reacts immediately, as if expecting her to kiss him for the last ten years they've known each other. It's in the doorway, just as she is about to leave, and the way his palms cradle her face so _softly_ , it's the sort of sensation she won't be able to forget anytime soon. Her hand rests against the doorframe, and she's on her tiptoes, and he's having to lean down just to reach.

Their breathing has accelerated, and she abandons the doorframe, choosing him instead. His clothes are soft, just like him, and she can feel his chest rise each time he inhales, so deeply, as if breaking the surface for air. Aang's pulse vibrates through her fingertips, meeting her own in sync, and his heartbeat is like rocks hitting brick; the impact of each beat resonates through her, and she can feel it in her mouth when she kisses him.

He has grown fond of that scarf, as uncharacteristic as it is of her, because he tugs at it tenderly, but with just the right amount of force, as if _encouraging_ the inevitable––

'Funny,' she mumbles, retreating and letting them gasp for breath. 'It actually suits you.'

Aang frowns and only when she's gone does he realise she's referring to the beard.

From that point on, every time she touches him, she's pleased he has decided to keep it the very same.


End file.
